


The Flight of the Dragonfly

by Puniyo



Series: Concubine [3]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: M/M, Magical Realism, Masturbation, Mentions of blood and violence, Pagan Rituals, Psychological Drama, Psychological Manipulation, Sexual Situations, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voyeurism, alternative universe, relationship triangle, worship of sensuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-22 06:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17054702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puniyo/pseuds/Puniyo
Summary: Part I‘Why not me?’ Patrick’s shadow looms over the fragile shoulders of the younger man as he helps him standing up, whispering to his ear the flood of their unspoken distance that has started to corrode him from the inside. ‘Why don’t you trust me anymore, Yuzuru?’Part IIThe jealousy in the emperor’s bites fills him each time the teeth sink on his virginal skin. It is gnawing him, the fever that shots straight to his manhood but he distances immediately before it’s too late. Before he becomes the dragonfly into the oblivion.UPDATED AND COMPLETED [26/12/18]





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Dear all, Concubine is taking a rather important turn of events and perhaps this is where things will start getting darker. I've always wanted to write something about pagan rituals but bear in mind that all these come from my imagination. I am no historian. 
> 
> This is also a look into Yuzuru's past (some of it) so it works as some sort of prequel to the main plot. More Javi on the next chapter, I promise (don't we all love complicated triangles?).
> 
> Disclaimer: this is a work of FICTION. Whatever written here does not reflect the people mentioned and neither does it reflect my personal thoughts. Ideas for the sake of the plot only.

The scarlet hairpin Yuzuru retrieves from the locked drawer that only he had the key to is almost as rosy and alluringly seductive as the redness on his lips. In front of the mirror, the dragonfly from the emperor has a twin, the reflected garnet wings even larger, trying to embrace him in Javier’s absence. Yuzuru secures a lock of his dark hair with it, running a finger on the body of the insect of crystal down to his own eyes and his swollen lower lip.

With his mouth slightly parted as he draws in the air of the night mixed with the incense of vanilla blossoms, Yuzuru can still taste Javier on his tongue, the erratic pulse beating on his flesh and the trembling release of his essence. He smiles, guiltless and innocent, as his hands keep playing with the hairpin, the sharp corners kissing his scalp.

‘You’re so beautiful Yuzuru.’

The dragonfly almost slips between his fingers with the slurred cries of the orange finch that perched at his open window. Yuzuru keeps looking at the mirror but he feels Patrick’s gaze on him, transported by the waves of his voice.

‘You shouldn’t be here.’

‘Won’t you stop pretending you can’t fly?’

He puts back the crystal hairpin on the cushioned cotton box Boyang had made him. The willow leaf on the silver bowl had barely moved an inch. It was still early evening, the sky still devoid of stars. Where was his attendant?

‘Fly, fly Yuzuru. Fly to where you belong.’

‘It is not yet time.’ An unexplainable dread filled his lungs as it distended against his ribs with each inhalation. Where had _Tian_ been the whole day?

‘Fly my Yuzuru,’ He still can’t see Patrick’s face, only his silhouette against the shadow of the bamboo lamp but he recognizes the blue silk sash that he is holding against the rice paper panes, ‘fly, before someone else takes the fall.’

It is the sash he had chosen that morning for Boyang to tie around his waist. He looked boyishly handsome with it over his brown robe and he still teased him on how the fabric would not hurt one’s wrists when fastened around them.

Yuzuru runs out of his quarters immediately, barefoot and his hair down like a noose around his neck waiting for the final knot.

_Please be safe._

‘Fly Yuzuru before it’s too late.’

 

 

The body floating at the surface of the well is a balloon ready to burst at the tiniest contact. The waves of salt and green foam crash against Yuzuru’s throat with such a voracity he thinks he will throw up all his guts from the nauseating smell of death. It is the body of a boy with his arms and legs extended to the sides, a ghost suspended in the stillness of the aquifer. He can’t see who is under that mop of dark hair just like his, an impossibly pale face hidden beneath the black chrysanthemum. The ink on the fabric of the outer garment is already washed away but there is no sash and that boy is just exactly like Boyang.

Yuzuru wets his fingers on the slabs of the well and brings them to his mouth, spitting the drops immediately out. It is not water but diluted poison, one that already pierces his tongue and slices through his teeth. He takes a step further closer to that hole in the ground but Patrick blocks his advances, a hand gripping on his shoulder.

‘You know you can’t touch the dead.’

The younger man yanks away from the touch and he has his arm submerged to the elbow in the water already, soaking his sleeve. A tenor cry escapes his lips at the coldness of the crystalline surface, his whole body trying to withdraw from the dampness and the trepidation of drowning. He will fall to the abyss again, like that time, only to the depths of the ocean until the darkness invites him forever.

Yuzuru thinks it has started raining but it is just his tears.

‘I’m sorry my lady, but your _sky_ is just collateral damage.’ Patrick wipes the first wet trail on Yuzuru’s cheek.

‘What?’ He turns to the older man, his knees almost giving up from the fear that suffocates him.

‘You knew this would happen.’

There is so much doubt and hurt spreading in Yuzuru’s eyes, a world crumbling in those obsidians, that Patrick finds him even more attractive, even more complete and bewitchingly magnetic, just like the Yuzuru he always knew. He brings a single lock of his dark hair to his lips and he inhales deeply.

‘Why? Why him?’ The younger man’s voice breaks in a harrowing cadence. ‘Why him? What did he do?’ He punches Patrick’s chest with angered fists but pleading strength.

‘You were the one to break the promise.’

‘WHY HIM?’ It’s not a cry anymore but a distressed scream, hysteric, ripped from his core. ‘Why not me? Tell me! He was innocent. He was just a boy!’

‘No one is innocent. Not you. Not me.’ Patrick holds him by the biceps, his own choleric passion seeping into Yuzuru’s pores. He wished he would be bruised so every time he saw the purple spots, he would be reminded of their pact. ‘Am I not just a boy too, Yuzuru? Am I not innocent too?’

_What else do I need to sacrifice?_

_Tell me._

_I don’t know what to do anymore._

_Tell me._

_Tell me please._

‘My ladyship?’

Patrick retrieves his hands instantly and Yuzuru turns around as he hears the voice he thought had vanished forever. His face is red from his tears and his lower lip is bleeding from gnawing on it in his exasperation. Boyang is standing next to the empress, both of them alone. His servant is not bloated or bleached as the haggard moon. He has tied at his waist the same blue sash of this morning although wrinkled and with a few stains.

‘Are you not feeling well, my lady?’

Yuzuru runs to him, his lower limbs finally surrendering to the torture of his soul, his knees on the dirt and scattered soil. He hugs him by the hips, nudging his nose on Boyang’s navel, feeling the softness there and pulling the tunic at his back with such impetus that his attendant almost loses balance.

‘I am fine.’ The words are muffled, as if he was a child learning to speak. ‘I am fine. Don’t disappear again.’

Boyang tries to pull Yuzuru up, the uneasiness of having his master at his feet confusing him even further of what had really happened. Still, the consort doesn’t move, refusing to let go for a second.

_If I let go, what will be left for me?_

The empress is the one to demand Yuzuru to compose himself and to behave accordingly to the title he carries with his name. Unlike her harsh and venomous tongue, her words this time are stern but laced with worry, empathetically perceptive. She rubs her own belly, the abiding pain in her gaze one that Yuzuru feels compelled to acknowledge in their shared silence.

Blood that does not mingle but yet the same.

‘Why not me?’ Patrick’s shadow looms over the fragile shoulders of the younger man as he helps him standing up, whispering to his ear the flood of their unspoken distance that has started to corrode him from the inside. ‘Why don’t you trust me anymore, Yuzuru?’

 

 

_A memory from the past_

 

The curtains of the night fall in the one and only act of that forest. Yuzuru runs in the complete darkness, guided by the constellations he could read, navigating through stumps and large roots without stumbling or cutting himself. His long hair is caught on the sharpest branches but he prefers to pull the trapped locks out, even if it teared the skin of his scalp.

Curiosity races faster in the veins than pain.

He hides behind an old and thick trunk, the canopy of its leaves the veil of camouflage that he needed. Yuzuru observes intently the people at the distance, their hands joined in an imperfect circle around a feeble flame. It is almost half of the village there, their bare bodies covered in silver mud and drawings of wild animals, cobras, eagles, lynxes, in red and yellow on the ripe chests of the women and flowing from the groins of the men. The patterns diffuse to the stomped soil, the shroud of dust accentuating the fervor of their practices. Some of them wear crowns of peacock feathers, others the fur of wild rabbits on their foreheads and bracelets of curled horse mane. They chant in words that were not known to any language, just primal echoes from one’s heart, howls and growls as the blessed water falls to their tongues from the fingers of the one that wears the tigress’ carcass.

He can breathe the life emanated from the dances, pure distilled instinct taking possession of the muscles of his limbs as he mimics their movements, hands extended for an offering and waiting for the same throes that made them writhe in euphoria.

It was eerily terrifying the excitement he could grasp if he became nothing and everything that moment.

 

_Everything and nothing Yuzuru._

 

Two warriors, a huntress with the severed antlers of an elk in shimmering gold and her man-gazelle, bring a prisoner to their circle, all the people there suddenly revitalized and screaming even louder at the sacrifice. The tunic of the man was of silk, now torn and lose threads on hanging from the hems. His wrists are tied and he shakes his head as all the others paint him in the same hues of red, marking him for slaughter.

They were going to kill the stranger.

 

_You are the all the lives in the universe Yuzuru, and the dying breath on everyone’s lips. You belong to the night and to no one._

 

They were going to kill him too. Today, tonight, when the moon eclipses in the clouds and the night is the most fearless.

He would die.

Yuzuru takes a step back, panic pressing and crushing his ribcage and almost making him vomit. A pair of hands hold him by the shoulders as his back hits the firm torso of another human presence.

They have caught him.

‘Don’t run away.’ The voice at his ear is not menacing but the frigidness is just as sharp. ‘Don’t turn your gaze away. Look at them.’

The sound of the glaive on the sandy path resonates in Yuzuru and the blade is cutting not through the soil but his own skin. The huntress raises the weapon above the prisoner’s head and the whole forest is silent. For a second, she is like a statue, completely motionless and petrified, a dry leaf suspended in the eye of the hurricane.

She looks at Yuzuru’s direction, their eyes locking into each other, as she lowers the blade, impossibly fast that even he has no time to realize what had happened.

He drops to his knees, a tear running down his cheek to his chin. It burns like the flames at the feet of the tigress.

‘Don’t be afraid.’ Patrick wipes the solitary droplet and tastes the saltiness on his wet finger.

The ropes on the captive man’s wrists fall to the ground and he rushes to the void between the trees. Yuzuru doesn’t know where the darkness will lead him but he can’t stop crying at the life that he thought had dissipated.

His whole body trembles, not of relief, but of the thrill of witnessing the mask of death fall into the prisoner.

‘Am I…’ He doesn’t finish the sentence as he chokes on his own suppressed hiccoughs.

‘No, no.’ Patrick holds the younger man’s svelte frame against his, he nudging at the base of his head to take in the vanilla blossom. ‘You’re beautiful Yuzuru.’

‘I thought he would–‘

‘We don’t kill. It is nature who has the power to play with lives. Not us Yuzuru. Never us.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m–‘

Patrick embraces him even tighter, soothing Yuzuru’s shivering sobs. The sickly flame of the prayers lights into a fire ablaze, a phoenix from the core of the earth rising to meet the skies. The first few beads of rain blends with the tears of the young man but the fire continues to grow, higher and higher.

‘One day Yuzuru, we will be there, you and I, but not yet. Not yet.’

There is no sight more sublime than the monster of flames. For just that moment, Yuzuru forgets he is afraid of the water that soaks his hair, root to tips, water that penetrates his bones and wants to drown him.

 

 

The thunder tearing the skies open and shattering the clay land continues through the twilight, even when the horizon morphs into the ocean, the beginning of one muddled with the ending of the other. Yuzuru catches one last breath on his trembling hands around his mouth and he offers it to the dawn, an intimate part of himself forever parted to the night.

The flames inside the tent are almost gone, with the last twig crumbling to ashes and the dampness of spring hovering above their heads. There are small poodles of mud, cloudy patches of water where Yuzuru steps and he lower his gaze, his completely drenched figure accentuating his thinness and his hair plastered on his neck, on his collarbones, on his back.

‘Where have you been?’

He doesn’t answer, only shaking his head as his hands draw into fists. The water is so inhumanly cold that he thinks he might forget he is alive.

‘Come here.’

Yuzuru takes small steps, slow and hesitant, still not looking at the chief of the tribe who sits by the heat. The older man throws a wooden block onto the fire and the orange ribbons spread immediately around, the subtle smell of sage filling the air.

‘Take off your clothes.’

Yuzuru heeds to the commands and unties his sash, his fingers in a clumsy battle with the knot. The sides of the tunic slide off his shoulders, revealing his porcelain skin, pale but perfectly chiseled in ivory.

‘Take off everything.’

The sodden garment falls to the ground, at his bruised ankles from running in the wild barefoot. Yuzuru hisses at the gentle breeze between his thighs that sweeps over his hips and exposed manhood.

 

_You are god’s favorite child Yuzuru._

 

‘Come closer.’

The chief drapes a blanket sown of the pelts of his hunts, of foxes and wolves, covering Yuzuru’s naked silhouette, without ever touching his skin. It is warm, comfortably enveloping his muscles and easing his frightened shivers. The young man can hear the howls and yelps of the animals seeping into him, melding into his soul. These are cries of joy and worshiping roars for him.

Yuzuru finally looks at the chief. It is a faint smile that greets him even in its towering stature and thick, robust arms. The rare grey hairs on the older man reminded him of snowflakes in a grass field.

‘Sleep Yuzuru. The day is almost here.’

 

_Be nothing Yuzuru._

 

It is in these trifle moments that Yuzuru allows himself to be accepted by the East. He falls into a deep slumber wrapped by the fire and fur, dreaming of flying, soaring to the clouds of cotton until he reaches the sun. There are days he stays awake the whole night, as storms come and he is afraid he will be suffocated by the foam of the waves. The head of the tribe tells him he is safe and he thinks he might finally start believing those words.

 

_The light and the dark._

 

Winter turns the earth into ice and Yuzuru is marveled at its beauty, at the blue tinges underneath the hard surface, of the strokes he could carve on them and at the sweetness on his tongue when he licks them. It is cold but Yuzuru lies naked by the flames in some nights, an inexplicable fever that makes his skin even more sensitive and he bites his lower lip when his manhood accidently rubs against the fur.

‘Don’t you,’ he turns his back to the chief, hiding his flushed cheeks and pink nipples, ‘want to touch me?’

The older man observes him across the veil of smoke, taking sharp intakes of breath but he doesn’t leave his own corner.

‘I only want to see you. Only that.’

 

_The man and the woman._

 

‘Here,’ the chief hands him a small sheath encased in bamboo leaves and tied with a string of feathers, ‘it has chosen you.’

Yuzuru pulls out the dagger from it, the silver blade reflecting his dark hair and his even darker marble eyes on the edge. He runs his thumb through it, an extremely thin cut on his tip, and he sucks the rivulet of blood that trickles from that wound.

On the fire, the blade diffuses between crimson and gold tones and becomes much lighter in his grasp. Yuzuru dances around the tent, his eyes closed, all the thrusting and slashing motions as delicate as if that weapon was a fan of rice paper.

A sword that wasn’t made for killing but to give birth.

‘Thank you.’

 

_You but not you anymore._

 

‘Why are you so quiet Yuzuru?’

The younger man has his knees drawn to his chest as he fixes his eyes on the dying blaze. The fluorescence on the pieces of burning branches fade as they turn to white and fibers break into powder.

‘Won’t you talk to me?’

‘I saw them today.’

‘What did you see?’

Yuzuru runs a hand on his hair, throwing the loose strands between his fingers into the heat. He smiles sheepishly and he shifts around, not able to keep still.

‘Look at me.’

He stares at the other man amidst the spurting cinders.

‘Tell me what you saw.’

‘The king and the queen of the forest.’ The leopards of the night. ‘I’ve never seen something so beautiful.’

‘You are beautiful Yuzuru.’

‘No, they were different. They were–‘ He crosses his legs and returns them to the same position as before immediately after, unable to continue the sentence.

‘What were they doing?’

Yuzuru closes his eyes, letting the images of the morning flood his mind. He holds tighter onto the coat of hides and the musk scent is suddenly too acute and too bold.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Show me.’ The interior of the tent is almost completely dark and only a sliver of the moonlight invades that space, right on the long hair of the young man. ‘Show me what they were doing.’

Yuzuru brings the palm of his hand to the mouth, his lips placing chaste kisses on each knuckle. He slides his fingertips down his neck, the passage of each digit on his Adam’s apple coinciding with his swallowing. He gently opens the layer of fur, just enough so he can trace the collarbone and the bud of his nipple. His whole body shivers at the jolt he receives, a painfully delicious contraction from his diaphragm as he breathes too much in a single intake of air.

‘Show me more.’

His hand continues on a downward itinerary, a puny chuckle as his nails tickle his navel. The older man nods in approval when he opens his legs further apart, giving the chief the view of his hardening manhood.

‘Touch yourself Yuzuru.’

He does, complying with the encouragement. His erection burns in his palms, his fingers moving along the length, the precum easing his sloppy movements, tip to base. It is dark but they both can clearly see the increasing flow of white on the pink flesh, just as Yuzuru’s glowing cheeks, and his back arches when he rubs the underside of the shaft. He trembles even more when his leaking essence trickles down his inner smooth thighs and they coat his pucker. A contained moan escapes his parted lips as he pushes a finger past the tight ring of muscles, resting completely inside of him.

Even the older man’s labored breath is synchronized with the obscenely wet harmony of his thrusts. The scent of sex with Yuzuru’s own vanilla are heavy on the air and it heightens the lightness of his head so much that he comes with his own name on the lips, his long dark hair clings onto the sweat of his skin and the longest strands are painted in his own semen.

 

_The abomination and the desire._

 

Patrick comes in, a bloodied arrow with him, but he stops as his eyes catch a glimpse of Yuzuru near the ashes, lain down, shivering in the residual bliss of the afterglow. The younger man plays with his own release up and down the sternum and he too stares at the newly arrived guest, a smirk on his lips.

Patrick swears he has never seen anyone more beautiful.

‘Didn’t I tell you not to come on the nights of full moon Patrick?’

Sleep crashes on Yuzuru even more potent than the waves that had brought him to the East. He closes his eyes soon, his mind not registering a single word being discussed in that moment.

 

_The order and the chaos._

 

‘No, he can’t go.’

Patrick holds on tighter to Yuzuru’s hand, not willing to let him go. The day had been theirs and so would be the night.

‘It’s finally time.’

Yuzuru too interlaces their fingers in an anchored grip but the widening pupils of the chief, the way his composed and yet rage-filled gaze penetrates him to the depths of his soul, is more frightening and upsetting than any emotion he had ever seen the man display. He recoils further into Patrick, torn between going or staying.

‘No one should see Yuzuru tonight.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Not even you Patrick.’

‘Don’t tell me what to do!’

‘Are you going to defy me, Yuzuru?’

He swallows hard, shaking his head.

‘I’m sorry.’

Both he and Patrick run away from the tent, their feet crushing the dry leaves and cracked thin sheets of ice as they dive into the forest, not hiding where they were going. The gusts that slap on their faces are the own palms of fortune and the young man almost trips on the upheaved roots.

‘Trust me, Yuzuru.’

It hurts, the thorns of the briars on his bare ankles and Achille’s tendon, but the taste of freedom is an aphrodisiac on his veins and it ignites the appetite for life, to taste on his tongue the reins of his own rapture for feeling more, so much more, until all his emotions overflowed his whole being and he could finally be _everything_.

 

_Be everything Yuzuru._

 

It is the same bonfire as the first one he had ever seen, the imperfect ring of a chain of human bodies in gleaming mud and tattoos of wild preys. The fire burns in monstrous ribbons of red and orange and everything in between, like thousands of hands calling for him to step closer. Yuzuru hesitates, the same dread and thrill pouring on his gut.

‘Don’t be afraid.’

The commotion of stomping and drums are deafening loud and he recognizes the huntress with the elk bones secured around her waist. She pulls him away from Patrick, yelling the same primal words that has the crowd erupting in chants. The man-gazelle tears apart his tunic and ties his wrists, his nakedness surrendered to the East, as they all bow down to him in front of the scorching blaze.

He is that prisoner. He is the sacrifice for tonight.

He is the prey of the woman that wears the tigress’ carcass but she does not devour him. She marks him in red, like how all they are, brushes of blood in his arms, his navel, the inside of his hips, and he hisses at the growing excitement. She paints his lips too and kisses him with bruising force that he closes his eyes by instinct. When she spits the remnants of saliva to the flames, the wildfire ascends once again and it envelops Yuzuru, like wings spreading from his bare back.

He is the phoenix, the bird of eternity.

 

_To die and to be reborn._

 

‘Don’t be afraid, Yuzuru.’

They too prepare Patrick for the worship, the same vermilion stripes on the pectorals and the lashes across the roundness of his buttocks, down to the shins. His hands are free though and he lifts the younger man’s chin, the moon and himself reflected in Yuzuru’s eyes. He presses their bodies together, skin on skin and they both moan at the mere touch.

The dances continue, the shower of dust and spiced soil at their feet and the dawn of rain once again. The water droplets are crystals on Yuzuru’s eyelashes and Patrick licks them. In the cradle of the flames, the younger man is not just himself but all the forces of Nature summoned upon his frail silhouette. Patrick kneels, extending his hand for a blessing. Yuzuru takes it, interlacing their fingers and bringing them to his erection.

The fire brands them both, to chose and to be chosen, to hunt and to be hunted. The desire overwhelms Yuzuru, the kaleidoscopic sequence of bodies in heat, bodies joined together, bodies like animals in the infinite lascivious licks and penetrations, it all clouds his mind until he is reduced to yells and whimpers too. He notices the mark of the stag on Patrick before fainting on his arms.

 

_To prey and to be preyed._

 

‘It’s waning moon tonight, Yuzuru.’

He returns to the tent with the torn pieces of rabbit’s fur wrapped around his slender frame. He kneels by the fireplace, cold, ashes scattered around the surrounding pebbles. He has his back to the chief.

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

He is not. He digs his nails into the muscles of his upper arms and he swallows hard as he hears the approaching footsteps.

‘Show me what you did tonight.’

Yuzuru grabs a handful of dirt at his knees, blowing the tiny particles into the air. He pretends his palms are fans and he sways them around. The movements are delicate but he is stiff, a boulder unable to go uphill. They both know really well that it is a lie.

‘What is this?’

The younger man flinches as the coldest pair of hands brushes his dark strands to the side, exposing his pale collarbone. There were still strokes of red and gold on his jaw and neck. It is the first time he learns of the other man’s touch, lumpish and detached, almost inhuman.

‘Tell me what this is.’

The tip of his silver blade runs through the blossoming stamp. Yuzuru shakes his head and bites his lower lip so he won’t cry.

‘Tell me Yuzuru.’

‘The flower of the night.’

 

_You are nothing and everything Yuzuru._

 

The silver dagger stabs directly into the heart of the mark.


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The jealousy in the emperor’s bites fills him each time the teeth sink on his virginal skin. It is gnawing him, the fever that shots straight to his manhood but he distances immediately before it’s too late. Before he becomes the dragonfly into the oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear all, Merry Xmas and I hope you all have(d) a lovely holiday. 
> 
> More Javier on this chapter as promised to balance out the triangle. This became more melodramatic than I imagined but then, I haven't focused on this theme of romance for some time so. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of FICTION. It should be self-explanatory.

‘What is this?’

Yuzuru sits in front of the mirror, an orange finch perched on a swing inside a gold cage. He recognizes the bird as the same one that morning and when he opens the small door to release it back to freedom, the animal pecks on his fingertip in self-defense. For such a petite body, the beak cuts through his skin and forms a drop of red.

‘It was left at our doorstep just now. It must be a gift from the emperor.’

He chuckles, knowing perfectly well that it was not true. Poison-laced amaranth seeds, silver salt water, he fondles the finch’s puffed chest, allowing it to assault his palm until it lies listless and inert in the creases of his fingers.

An eternal sleep.

Yuzuru brings the dead bird to his chest, patting the feathery head before resting it on his pillow.

‘We can’t all be phoenixes, can’t we?’

‘My lady?’

‘Come here Tian.’ He sits on the floor by the bed, his head on the fibers of the mat. ‘Help me do my hair.’

Boyang’s fingers on his scalp are the touch of a child on a wild dandelion and Yuzuru smiles at the gentleness with which he combs each strand of his dark locks. He closes his eyes for brief moments, thinking of nothing but the lullaby of the descending motion.

‘You are my sky, Tian.’

‘Is something wrong Yuzuru?’ Boyang fixes the unruly short hairs behind his master’s ears, removing the opal earrings so these wouldn’t be caught on the net.

‘Nothing. Everything is fine.’

‘You’re different tonight.’

‘Am I? Did I forget to tease you?’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘Do you want another kiss? I like your lips.’

‘My lady–‘

‘You taste of…’ He finds the trembling hands on his hair more endearing than amusing. He swears he can see the flushed cheeks on his attendant even without looking at him. ‘… sweet steamed buns. Round and smooth buns. I really want to bite them.’

The bone comb drops to the floor and Yuzuru’s laughter is loud and unrestrained. Innocence that shall not be tarnished, he thinks.

_Let me be all the corruption._

‘Are you happy, Tian?’

Yuzuru turns to the young boy and pulls him by the wrists so his servant is sitting on the bed, hair still in his grasp. He shakes his head at the unequal balance of their heights but Yuzuru silences him with the promised kiss, still as chaste as last time as their mouths meet. He settles his head on Boyang’s thighs, caressing his knees in circular patterns.

‘Tell me Tian, are you happy here?’

‘Yuzuru?’

‘Are you?’

‘My happiness is serving you.’

Yuzuru lifts his face, locking both their gazes. He is trying to be as stoic as possible, as cold as the moon out there mocking on his moment of weakness, but his nails dig into his palms and he almost chokes when he speaks.

‘Forget about me. Are you happy being a concubine’s slave?’

‘You don’t treat me as a slave.’

‘You are nothing but a slave if you stay here. Don’t you want to go to the battlefield and bring victories to the emperor? Don’t you want to see what’s out there, beyond the walls of this rusty cell?’

Boyang brushes one last dark lock as he was asked before. Fulfill Yuzuru’s wishes, that was the duty of the life saved by the consort.

‘You are not being yourself, my lady.’

He tries to recoil from the care, from the tenderness, and yet his muscles refuse to withdraw from it.

_Kill all your emotions Yuzuru. Feel nothing, sense nothing, savor nothing._

_Be nothing._

‘You don’t know me. You never will.’

‘You are trying to make me leave. I’m not afraid of anything.’ It is the first time that Boyang reaches for his master’s shoulders, hugging his shivering frame. He ties Yuzuru’s hair behind his back, pulling the strands at the base of his skull gingerly, knowing that the patch of skin right behind his ears was where his master would always reach for when he needed to calm himself down, trifling details that the consort might not even be aware of.

‘Leave.’ Yuzuru takes a deep breath and stands up. Their difference in height is accentuated but he still feels as the little boy looking down at the precipice and trying not to fall. ‘I don’t need you.’

‘You lie, my ladyship.’

‘I won’t repeat myself again.’

‘I won’t leave you.’

‘Insolence is not allowed in my quarters. You will do as I say.’

‘I swore to the emperor I would look after you until the afterlife. It’s his orders.’

‘Why?’ He looks at the lifeless bird on the pillow and the first wave crashes against his mouth, the saltiness on his tongue and the foam strangling him. ‘Why? Why? Answer me!’

‘Yuzu–‘

‘Do you want to be the next one on that well?’ It’s the water, it’s the poison already soaking his feet and up to his knees. The ocean will pull him down to the seaweed coffin and seal it forever with its kiss of death. ‘Do you? Because I will put you there myself!’

‘I’m not afraid.’ Boyang extends his arms but Yuzuru takes a step back, avoiding at close proximity. ‘You are the kindest person I have ever met.’

The consort shakes his head in violent motions, trying to keep himself steady on the same spot. The tiles on the floor are gelid against the balls of his bare feet and he misses the fire. Fire that burns everything to ashes. ‘Don’t do this to me Tian. _Please_.’

The younger man rises to meet Yuzuru, who seems to falter on his steps at the sudden distant howl that seeped from the open window, but his masters draws a silver blade hidden underneath his black dress and points the sharp tip at his throat.

‘Don’t come closer.’ The grip on the dagger doesn’t wave even if its wielder seems to crumble any time. ‘Please go. Go. Go far away.’

‘I can’t leave you. The emperor–‘ The blade raises to his jaws and lifts his chin, pulling his neck in an angle that makes it difficult to speak.

‘Then don’t follow me.’ Yuzuru smiles at Boyang, the mute plea on his glistening pupils that refused to let any tear fall. ‘Or I will be the one in the well.’

‘My lady–‘

‘I promise you I will be fine.’ He lowers the weapon and places another kiss on his servant’s lips. ‘Sleep Tian. Sleep and dream of me as the most obedient concubine in the court. The emperor’s favorite.’

 

 

The sound of the cadence of steps in the hard concrete is not a rebellion in the darkest hours of the night but a call that he must follow. Yuzuru imitates the same rhythm, reticent and soundless on his bare feet. He still knows it, every movement of this dance of two, that when that hand touches his hips, he just leans back to the shoulder of the stag before opening his eyes and walking away from his grasp.

‘The East has moved.’ Yuzuru touches the ground and stares at the dust on his palm. ‘You heard it.’

Patrick nods as he does the same as the younger man, examining the pattern of the damp dirt. ‘Can you hear them now? All the souls below us?’ He smashes an oil lamp on the pavement, the fire consuming the carved wooden casket. It spreads to the roots on the patch of soil and the perfumed smoke of the branch the general throws in it reminds the younger man of the lemon balm on mud and forests of mint on the petals of their withering flowers.

Yuzuru blows the dust to the blaze and he can feel Nature yielding to his offering, entering into his veins and diffusing in his blood until it reached his heart and the sting of the pure life elixir bounced on its walls. ‘They are not below.’ He looks as the ribbons of red and orange soar. ‘They are above us, every single one. The sky is so beautiful.’

‘You are beautiful Yuzuru.’ Patrick brushes open the younger man’s robe, just enough to see the flower of the night on the collarbone. The dark blossom on his ivory skin, flawless and eternally unchanged, the scar of the sacrifice for him. For him only. ‘My concubine.’

‘I am not yours.’

‘You don’t belong to him too.’

Yuzuru readjust his tunic, covering as much of his chest as possible. As he tucks a few loose strands behind his ears, a dragonfly, small and scanty wings of blue, poses on his fingers. It flies away almost immediately, directly to the fire, burning itself to nothing, not even cinders. An existence that extinguishes into emptiness.

_Give me your freedom Yuzuru. It is mine._

‘Why do you think you still have the mark in you? Is that night just a memory?’

‘There is no flower anymore.’

‘Why are you lying to me? To yourself?’

‘The stars have changed.’

Yuzuru extends his hand to the starry darkness, his finger tracing the alignments of the various glimmering dots on that canvas above them. He draws parallels lines from one end to the other, following the clouds that erase the light behind their mist. Patrick grabs that same wrist, the anchor on his articulation strong but not hurtful. The general brings the palm to his face and nudges closer, inhaling the earth, the wood and vanilla.

‘Close your eyes.’ Patrick releases his grip. ‘Trust me.’

The younger man does it, his eyelashes almost touching his cheeks. He hears the beating of the wings of that dragonfly just now, fluttering incessantly as it melted in the heat, returning to Nature. The sound is so pure and divine that a tear falls from his eyes.

‘Do you still remember that night?’

Yuzuru nods, pressing his lips together as he tastes the saltiness of his own nostalgia. ‘Yes. Everything.’ He extends both his joined hands as if they were tied. He hisses at the cool breeze on his naked shoulders when Patrick slides his robe off again, careful to avoid touching the exposed virginal skin, kissing chastely the mark of the flower instead, worshipping him like he did that time.

‘Give me your blessing.’

The general kneels and he interlaces both their fingers. Yuzuru hesitates when he doesn’t recognize that foreign touch that once was his too, but he still lowers their hands to his clothed manhood. He swallows hard and he almost sobs as the air leaves his lungs too abruptly.

_Give me your loyalty Yuzuru._

What if I like the East?

_Give me your loyalty._

The danger and the liberty?

_Give it to me._

What if I lose myself?

_Give it._

Yuzuru opens his eyes and the fire greets him, almost engulfing him completely under its smoldering wings. The bows of flames contort into shapes Yuzuru knows not what they are but they remind him of Javier’s curls, of other hues but of the same intensity. They are both so alike, Javier and _you_ , the imperial consort thinks, and yet so different.

_He will never be like me._

He is not you.

_He will never have you like I do._

You don’t have me.

_He will never have what you have given me._

Yuzuru reaches for the flames. He wants to see if the dragonfly is waiting for him when he is finally nothing.

 

 

‘You’re so beautiful Yuzuru.’

Javier kisses him with the same gentleness he hated, the one that made him think that the emperor might really be telling the truth.

‘Is this another of your punishments, my lord?’

The older man adjusts the scarlet hairpin, releasing the confined dark locks on the lustrous blue silk sheets. It is a fan that spreads its leaf upon Yuzuru’s svelte and beguiling frame. They are so close, their reflections upon each other’s irises, and the corners of Javier’s mouth curve into a subtle smirk.

The consort can feel his breath tickle the tip of his nose and he draws in the same air, all the air, as they spar words in rough notes and seducing intervals.

‘Why should I punish you?’

‘Because…’ Yuzuru tilts his head just slightly forward, enough for his dry lips to meet the supple fleshiness of Javier’s. He barely rubs against the moist skin, taking into him the feeble pulses on it. The taste of gentleness scratches his trachea and it turns bitter as he swallows.

It is uncomfortable the emperor’s resemblance to _him_ but when he presses further on Javier’s lips, his weight immersed in that dainty surrender, the tingles on his nerves jolts him like the forest’s wildfire and he is afraid he will be cold again, drowning on the depths of the unforgiving ocean.

The water will wash him away.

Like it always does.

 

 

‘How many did you catch?’

Yuzuru watches in awe as the faint red, blue and luminescent green dots fly inside the quartz flask.

‘As many as I could find.’

Javier blows out the only candle in his concubine’s quarters. In the crepuscule of the room, the younger man’s elated laughter resonates in him, piercing his bones.

‘Aren’t you a cruel man, my emperor?’

Yuzuru throws the crystal to the floor, the prism shattering into pieces, large chunks that glimmered with the invading moonlight. The platoon of fireflies disperses around the two men, transforming the inner chamber into the ever-changing images of a kaleidoscope. Yuzuru twirls as the glow of the tiny bugs spiral around him.

Javier swears Yuzuru is even more radiant than the fireflies.

‘Why do you like them so much?’

A few corpses already laid on their footsteps, all the luster gone in mere seconds.

‘It’s a short life.’ Yuzuru puts one of them onto Javier’s palm. ‘Guiding lights in such frail bodies. Don’t you think it’s a very meaningful existence?’

‘What? To please my lady?’

Yuzuru shakes his head, his own hand on top of the emperor’s, his palm covering the departed firefly. ‘To serve and to die.’

 

 

‘You haven’t answered me.’

‘What, my lord?’

‘Your loyalty. Where it is?’

‘In the lava that burns our feet. In the hailstones that fell in your garden yesterday. In–‘

‘In you.’

‘In me.’

‘In all the things you do.’

‘In all the things I do.’

‘You gave me your honesty.’

‘I did.’

‘Then answer me.’

Yuzuru stands up, opening his arms to embrace all of the night. His mouth utters something, his lips quirking into distinct shapes but no sounds come out. The vibrations on his throat lose themselves on the immense sky above them.

‘Give it to me.’

Javier embraces his consort with such ardor Yuzuru’s feet almost leave the ground. Back to chest, lips to neck, a lust drenched erection to a lust craving flesh. He dives his hand through the loosely tied tunic until he seizes the sensitive softness of Yuzuru’s inner thigh.

‘Give me everything.’

The only harmony that escapes the concubine’s lips is Javier’s name.

 

 

‘No more poisoned apples or eyes of foxes?’

Yuzuru holds the branch of pink flowers, petals falling on his lap, a shower of blushing pilgrims on his delicate fingers.

‘The first cherry blossoms. Like you, plucked too early for the world to see its real beauty.’

‘You shouldn’t kill a tree, my emperor.’

‘That’s why I’m giving it to you.’

‘To wither on my eyes?’

Javier picks one of the petals and tucks one of the dark locks behind the younger man’s ears, securing the flower on the hair.

‘So it can reborn inside of you.’

Yuzuru bites his lower lip, suppressing a grin, almost as ethereal as the shiver that sprinted down his neck when the emperor touched him.

Javier was really so different from _him_.

‘This is not cherry, my lord. It’s a plum blossom.’

 

 

‘Javier?’

He lies in bed, feet on the ground and knees bend on the edge, his back on the layers of feathers. There are pools of crimson on the floor and pieces of the imperial armor scattered below the shadow of the oil lamps. The blood prickles Yuzuru’s fingertips as he calls his name again but there is no response. He hurries beside the emperor, seeing the wound on his arm. It looks like a simple cut, jagged skin and serrated muscles, but he recognizes the shape of the blade that did it.

He too had one.

‘Javier!’

The younger man is pulled into a rough kiss, savage and bursting with adrenaline as the emperor’s tongue invades his mouth. He loses balance and slips, their teeth crashing against each other, splitting his upper lip. The metallic taste blended with his own scent of vanilla arouses Javier and he feels his body compelled to respond to the passion of that violation with the same fervor.

‘Were you afraid I would die?’

‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘Your emperor is a stupid man.’

‘Very.’

The battle of wills is a fierce one and Javier is the first one to submit. He holds his consort by the waist, Yuzuru’s legs straddling his hips on each side. They are both slightly out of breath, the fluctuations of their ribcages matched in a wicked rhythm. The long hair flutters on Javier’s ascending sternum and brushes the receding diaphragm.

‘I could only think of you in the battlefield.’

‘Don’t be stupid, my lord. I’m not going to be here forever.’

‘I only wanted the taste of your lips.’

Yuzuru pries open the satin robe underneath him, his fingers skimming through the dark purple bruises, each one like a flower too. He lowers himself, kissing every single one of them modestly, dry sweat on his pine and musk, until Javier sits and lifts his chin.

‘My lips?’

‘Your lips. It’s what kept me alive.’

‘My lips on you?’

‘ _Yes_. On me.’

‘Where?’ Yuzuru licks his parted lips, the saliva coating them in a glossy shine. ‘Where were they, _my emperor_?’

Javier guides Yuzuru further down, his legs widening to better accommodate the younger man. It’s a whimper when he sees the pink tongue fondles the underside of his erection and his own velvet moan when he’s completely inside that warm mouth.

‘My concubine.’

 

 

The roses on the water seem to return to him, attracted by his own gravity, no matter how many times he sweeps them away. The ripples on the surface distort his reflection and Yuzuru thinks he is no more beautiful, just mutilated parts of himself that were put back together without even knowing how the original ever was.

When the water becomes still, the roses in a serpentine pattern of their own, he stares at the person in the bath, the same long dark hair as his, the same two obsidian orbs, the same curved and elegantly thin eyelashes. He brings his thumb to his lips and he wonders if the reflection can feel the same ridges on the tip.

Were they the same, body and soul, flesh and spirit?

_Be one and many Yuzuru. A flower but also the seeds that were buried on the roots._

Yuzuru sinks into the water, all his weight fighting the buoyancy that repudiated him and threatened to reject him. He falls again from the precipice, the wings that would save him from the plunge never growing on his back. It is cold, so cold, the salty foam of the waves that slapped him each time he tried to open his eyes.

_I don’t want to die._

_It’s just one of the many lives you have, my Yuzuru._

The young man opens his mouth but the soap and the infused lime oil crash against his tongue, his palate and his throat, choking him as he breathes the water of the bath that tasted of the ocean too. He kicks his legs, his toes brushing the tiles at the bottom. His reflection pulls him towards the center where it is deeper, drowning him even further.

_How many lives do I have?_

_All the ones in this world until the day you won’t wake up anymore._

‘Yuzuru!’

Javier lifts his pliant body out of the water, the abrupt injection of air into his lungs mauling his forehead that he shuts his eyes instinctively from the extreme pain. He coughs against the newly arrived man’s collarbone until all the water is out and he coughs still, his lips purple and swollen. He almost throws up, the fear running on his blood and the terror of his mind.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Nothing.’ _Everything_. ‘Nothing.’ _Everything Yuzuru._ ‘Nothing.’ _Everything, my Yuzuru._

He holds on to Javier’s shoulders, whispering _nothing_ amidst his ragged breath.

 

 

‘Do you like the empire Yuzuru?’

‘How could I reply this?’

‘Do you like the East then?’

‘What is there to like when there is no future?’

‘Who are the wrong ones in this fight?’

‘You are the emperor Javier. You should know better than anyone the answer to this.’

‘Is the empire wro–‘

‘There is no right or wrong. All there is,’ Yuzuru watches one of the orange and gold carps of the pond swiftly swallow a water strider, ‘is a will to kill.’

‘And the will to resist dying.’ The other insects stealthily skate away from the huge predator. ‘The last emperor used to say this.’

‘The previous emperor was a very selfish man.’

‘Did you know him?’

Yuzuru throws one of his jade earrings to the fish, the tail of the frightened animal splashing a few drops of water to the nearest fully bloomed lotus.

‘Didn’t we all know him? Some better than the others.’

‘The empire will crumble one day, he used to tell me.’

‘Will you let it perish on your hands?’

Javier interlaces their fingers, planting a kiss in each of Yuzuru’s knuckles.

‘Are they strong enough?’

The younger man caresses the patches of skin where he had kissed, trying to grasp the residual tenacity in them.

 _You are so different from_ him _, my emperor._

‘Your hands are too soft, my lord.’ Yuzuru blows their joined palms and closes them, all lines and crevices holding on to the breath of life. ‘But I believe in you.’

 

 

‘The court wants me away.’

Javier releases the string of his bow, the arrow hitting the outer ring of the straw target.

‘Do you want to leave?’

Yuzuru hands him another pointed missile from the wolf-skinned quiver.

‘I want what you want.’

The aim is much better this time and the wooden weapon drills into the very center of the mark.

‘Is that why you still won’t answer my question?’

Yuzuru shakes his head, smiling to himself. He retrieves the dragonfly hairpin at his braids, the tied locks falling down his shoulders and back. He clips it at the iron head of one of the arrows, the extended garnet wings ready to take flight. The younger man collects the bow from the emperor and draws at the same angle. He pulls the string tightly, just like his name.

‘You will always have my honesty.’

The arrow directly pierces Javier’s one on the target, the scarlet dragonfly splitting the wood into two.

 

 

‘You are right, Yuzuru.’

‘What?’

‘What have I seen besides this prison here?’

‘It is your palace.’

‘What is there beyond these gates?’

‘There is the sky and the earth. The fields of golden rice and–‘ _The mountains, the cliffs, don’t let me fall, the ocean, don’t let me drown_.

_The Fire._

‘I want to see the freedom.’

‘Are we ever free, my lord?’

‘I will be free when I am _in_ you.’

Javier kneels in front of Yuzuru, hugging him by the hips as he nudges his head on his navel. He inhales deeply the vanilla, until the scent makes him dazed.

‘I don’t want any other concubine.’

‘My lord–‘

‘Call me by my name.’

‘My emperor–.’

‘Be mine.’

_You belong to me, my Yuzuru._

‘Be only mine.’

_He won’t have you._

‘Javier.’

‘Be mine, Yuzuru.’

_You are nothing, Yuzuru._

‘Do you want this, Yuzuru?’

 

 

‘I want…’

Patrick catches Yuzuru just right before he leaped to the flames. The air of the night finally enters his mouth again and it startles him awake. He is trembling fiercely, his senses returning one by one, the vision of the red ribbons, the smell of burnt willow, the cries of the hunting owls, the taste of longing on his tongue. The arms that circle his silhouette, large and gentle hands, but when he turns around, it is not hazelnut curls and wildfire eyes. The lump on his throat won’t go down and his flower of the night hurts.

‘No, no, no,’ Patrick touches the mark, scratching the skin on Yuzuru until it bleeds on his nails. The flicker of the flames spit ashes like fireworks and they burn his hand. It is almost as if they were protecting their maiden. ‘Why is it disappearing?’

‘I’m sorry.’ The faint embers on his shoulders are like tiny encrusted jewels, glowing in the moonlight.

‘For whom is your desire? Am I not the same as your emperor?’

‘Pa–‘

‘I killed for you!’

Yuzuru takes a step back, the madness in the general’s eyes reminding him of the storm that consumed everything on its path, even the fire behind him.

‘When he hit you that night, I swore he would never touch you again.’ He pulls his sword raising his blade to the younger man. ‘ _This_ cut through his wrist so he would feel the same pain as you did.’

Yuzuru shakes his head, seeing the two of them reflected on the iron edge.

‘I didn’t want to do it. I really didn’t. But you made me!’

‘No.’

‘He was my father. Blood that doesn’t mingle, right?’ There is a distant howl and he points the sharp tip to Yuzuru’s chest, where his heart is. ‘Why do you think you can hear it?’

He realizes now the game they both have been playing along all this time, the calls and the pretend foresights, the shifting winds and time that was always hushed and never curtailed.

‘You are–‘

‘The East is mine. It has always been.’ He lifts the sword, brushing the Adam’s apple, the jaw, until it settled on Yuzuru’s chin.

It is cold, so cold. Even more than the water.

‘Are you going to hurt me?’

‘Never.’ Patrick drops the blade as he kneels to the young man. ‘But I won’t wait anymore. We will leave tonight.’

Yuzuru stares at the sky once more, all the stars gone and he thinks he can see the dragonfly on the clouds, returning to him.

‘Yuzuru!’

He lowers his gaze as the velvet timbre echoes in the air surrounding him. He chuckles pathetically at the sight of the three of them. He doesn’t bother to cover his naked shoulders as he steps away from the cinders, the fire completely extinguished by now. He mutters _tonight_ as his passes by the general in his courtesy bow to Javier’s arms.

 

 

‘Why do you have that mark?’

Yuzuru is standing in front of Javier, his tunic at his feet. Javier is at the edge of the bed, his hand running the sash of his concubine between his inner thighs as he kisses the muscles on his navel.

‘It is not for you.’

The jealousy in the emperor’s bites fills him each time the teeth sink on his virginal skin. It is gnawing him, the fever that shots straight to his manhood but he distances immediately before it’s too late. Before he becomes the dragonfly into the oblivion.

‘What is there for me then?’

_Be everything and nothing, Yuzuru._

‘Don’t you remember me?’

‘Are you a witch, Yuzuru? Putting a spell on me to want you so much.’

_Tonight._

_He will never have you like I do._

_Tonight._

‘Will you give me your loyalty, Yuzuru?’

The concubine closes the rift between them as the many voices overshadow the cries of his own soul. He kisses Javier’s lips in the same gentleness that made him uncomfortable. He wants to drink of that tenderness until _tonight_ never comes.

Javier is not you.

_He will never be like me._

Yuzuru pulls the emperor’s dagger, the platinum one that complemented the silver one he wielded, and he raises it to his own neck.

‘What are you doing?’ Javier reaches for it but his consort is quicker in his reflexes.

‘My loyalty.’ Yuzuru grabs his own hair and he slashes the honed blade on the locks. He throws them at the emperor, the long and dark strands falling at Javier’s feet.

**Author's Note:**

> Tian, Boyang's nickname, means literally 'the sky'.


End file.
